my life is for you (and no one other than you)
by only-more-love
Summary: It's a journey they began years before, but one they have to take again and again. Together. [Theo/Liam]


**A/N:** The title is a lyric from Sting's Desert Rose.

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Liam is draped across their bed, one arm flung outward like a starfish, the other resting over his eyes. The resonant bass of Theo's heartbeat trip-trops in his ears and travels down until it settles, reassuring and familiar, somewhere in Liam's own chest, while he catches his breath, still riding the high of his orgasm. The pulse of Theo's heart as it pushes blood through his veins is the music that rocks Liam to sleep every night, an auditory security blanket he couldn't relinquish even if he tried.

He hears the snap of latex as Theo removes his condom, ties it off, and throws it in the small trash can near their bed. "Ugh," Liam groans. "I can't move. Babe, I'm never going to be able to move again."

"Well, that could be a problem," Theo answers, a smile heating the thick, lush slide of his voice, "considering your come is currently drying in your chest hair."

Every nerve ending in Liam's well-loved body wants to light up in response to the caress of that voice . . . But he's just too damned tired and sated.

Theo tugs at a few of the hairs near one of Liam's nipples to emphasize his point about the sticky mess painted on his chest.

"I don't care." Liam's mouth sinks into a pout.

"You're disgusting, Liam." Theo nudges him in the calf with the barest hint of a claw. "Just take two minutes and clean up in the bathroom."

"You clean it. It's only fair since it's your fault I can't moooove," Liam says, drawing out the O. "You fucked all the energy and motivation right out of me." He raises his ass in a half-hearted thrust and hears Theo smother a laugh. The sound is so light and happy, so free of sharp edges, that Liam wants to record it and play it back on repeat. His lips twitch with the desire to arc in a dopey smile; he lets them. It's nothing Theo hasn't seen before.

A hand curves around his flank and kneads. The touch, tender but confident, coaxes a sigh from Liam's kiss-bruised mouth. If he had any sense left at all, he'd stifle it. But that would take energy Liam doesn't have, and besides, he knows it's too late: he let Theo in on most of his secrets, the dark ones and the stupid ones and the in-between ones, too, long ago—including the fact that he morphs into something soft, malleable, and totally, utterly, deliciously whipped in Theo's long-fingered hands.

"Are you complaining, little wolf? 'Cause that sure sounded like a complaint."

"Mmm-mm." Liam bites his lower lip and shakes his head from side to side where it lays on the pillow. "Just stating facts. Definitely not complaining."

"I hope not. 'Cause ten minutes ago you were all, 'I need you, Theo. Fuck me, Theo.'" Amusement and affection coil around and through the words.

But the wickedly accurate mimicry sends hot blood rushing to Liam's cheeks. "Are you done?" he says, voice frigid.

"'I need your cock, Theo,'" Theo adds, undeterred by Liam's disapproval, and apparently not finished eviscerating Liam's pride. All with a complete lack of malice, of course.

He loves this man—the coyote; the wolf; the shadows; the nightmares; the tender, vulnerable parts Liam can still scratch if he isn't careful—fuck, does he love him, but Theo knows exactly where to apply pressure when he wants to be a dick. "Idiot. I do not sound like that," Liam says, and yeah, okay, maybe it comes out a touch whiny. "Shut up." Eyes scrunched tight, he smacks the bed, not trying very hard to aim for Theo.

Theo tsks and cards his big, warm hands through Liam's hair in a lazy drag that soothes his bruised pride and threatens to melt him into exquisite, boneless ease. "That's exactly how you sound, sweet cheeks. You know it; I know it."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not." Liam surges up, catching Theo off-guard, and shoves him onto his back. "Take it back, you assmunching twatwaffle," he says, straddling Theo's lean hips and digging his fingers into his ribs, his favorite tickle spot.

Theo grips Liam's thighs and beams a laugh at him, with his head thrown back, teeth flashing white, eyes crimped at the corners. Liam blinks; fuck, if normalcy doesn't look amazing on Theo. "Such a dirty mouth," Theo says through his laughter, gasping, "for such a pretty face." The words drip with mock reproach.

Fortunately, Liam can give as good as he gets. He grins. "You love my dirty mouth when it's wrapped around your dick."

"Hmm," Theo replies, sounding non-committal. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right. You really think I'm pretty?"

"Are you fishing for compliments?"

"No." A pause. "Maybe." Liam lifts one shoulder in a shrug and rubs his thumb across Theo's bottom lip. "Is it working?"

Using the barest hint of fang, Theo nips at Liam's thumb, then releases it. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" he asks, eyes dancing, just before he rolls Liam onto his back. The pads of his fingers glide over Liam's cheek; he leans into the touch and fights not to purr his pleasure. His wolf, on the other hand, because it lacks any dignity whatsoever, seems to give a contented snuffle and rolls over, presenting its belly for a thorough rub and scratch.

"Definitely you," Liam quips.

The mattress dips when Theo leans in closer. The salt sweat scent of his skin sends fresh heat spiraling deep inside Liam. "No, you, pretty boy," Theo murmurs on a warm puff of air, and Liam's eyes slip shut again. "Your cheekbones are sharper than my claws." His voice curls smoky and whisper soft against the shell of Liam's ear, pulling goosebumps and a helpless shiver from his sensitive, love-drunk body. "And your eyes . . . Those blue, blue eyes . . ." The words trail off; Theo clears his throat.

Liam's eyes open by slow degrees, as if in a dream, and he glances up at Theo. Strands of dark, tousled hair fall across his forehead—hair that Liam had gripped and pulled while they'd loved each other—rendering him boyish and carefree in a way that Liam knows Theo wasn't when he was actually still a child. But now . . . Now his eyes aren't hollow and edged in bitterness like they once were. Now he doesn't reek of loneliness and regret like they're clawed deep into the very marrow of his bones.

Now Liam's heart speeds up, like a wolf racing through a midnight forest crisp with moonlight.

Theo's mouth, still kiss-pink and soft at the edges, twists in a knowing smirk, as if Theo hears the increase in Liam's heart rate. (Of course the bastard hears it.)

"Why are you flattering me, anyway? What do you want?" Liam narrows his eyes and flicks Theo in the stomach, watching with languid interest as the muscles there flex in response. "You already got in my pants."

"It's not flattery if it's the truth, Dunbar."

"Oh, goody." He bats his eyes in Theo's direction. "So I guess my pretty ass is just gonna lie here and be a sloth," Liam says, and it slips out wrapped around a smile.

Theo's eyebrow quirks up. "And that would be different from any other day how?"

"Remind me why I keep you around." Liam lets his eyes flash gold for a moment.

"That's easy." Theo shrugs, face impassive but for the unholy light in his beautiful eyes. "'Cause no one else could fuck you like I do," he says, eyes glowing yellow right back at Liam. Coming from anyone else, that statement would sound ridiculous. Coming from Theo, it simply sounds matter of fact.

"Nope." Liam presses his lips together and shakes his head. "That's not why. I bet tons of other people could do what you do to my body—"

"—I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Cocky motherfucker." Liam rolls his eyes and covers Theo's mouth with his hand. "Let me finish, asshole." His tone mellows. "But no one else could do what you do to my heart."

This time Theo's heart picks up speed; Liam hears it but doesn't react, just drops his hand and lets a spark of satisfaction ping through him. He breathes into the comfortable silence that covers the room like a worn, nubby blanket and waits for the response he knows will come eventually. Head cocked to the side, Theo asks, "Are you a hopeless romantic, Liam?" A twinkle flares in Theo's hazel eyes, igniting a traitorous, answering warmth that spreads from Liam's chest all the way down to his toes.

He chooses to answer the question with another question. "I married you, didn't I?" Liam stretches until his fingers find their home, woven together with Theo's.

Theo swallows, throat working, and Liam's eyes track the motion. "That you did." Still naked and radiating toasty heat, Theo rises over Liam, bracing his free hand on the bed, by Liam's shoulder.

Liam inhales sharply, watching the light and the shadows in their dim bedroom play along the muscles beneath the skin of Theo's arms, chest, and shoulders. His husband's pupils are dark and blown wide. He unwinds their fingers, and Liam fights an aching sense of loss at the absence of contact.

"I'm still a mess, Theo," he feels compelled to announce, gesturing at his chest, when Theo tips his chin back with a single finger.

"Baby, I don't care," he says in a low rumble just before he dips his head to mouth at the sensitive skin at Liam's throat. "So am I. Not sure I ever stopped being a mess," he adds, almost under his breath, and it has the tenor of a confession.

Liam understands the double meaning, so he circles his arms around Theo and pulls him in as close as he can, taking all his weight, then closer still.

"Fuck, you smell good." Reverence, awe, and affection entangle the words, and Theo shudders. Liam feels it through every single point of contact between their skin. The scruff on Theo's jaw prickles against Liam's neck, a bracing counterpoint to the softness of his words—and his heart. "Like sweat and come and you . . . and me."

"Ew"—Liam curls his leg around Theo's and drags his foot against the coarse hair on his calf—"Sounds gross."

Theo shapes a laugh against his skin. "It should be, but it isn't."

"Geez, Theo," he says, and taps him lightly on the ass, "when did you become this ginormous sap?"

"Probably when you freed me from hell."

"Best thing I ever did, even though I didn't do it for you." Liam moves his hands from where they're stroking circles on Theo's back, to his hair.

"About that"—he lifts his head to look Liam directly in the eyes—"I, um, don't know if I ever said thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting me out. For not sending me back." Theo pauses, mouth open, then sighs with a swift shake of his head. "And for everything after that."

Liam smiles and pushes Theo's hair off his forehead. "You never said the words"—he pauses and kisses the smooth skin at Theo's temple—"but you didn't have to; I heard them anyway."

Liam pulls the blanket over them both, then tightens his arms around Theo, inhaling their commingled scent, and damn it all to hell and back, he must be as much of a sap as Theo is, because, well, it is a good smell.

Theo. Pack. Mine, he thinks, with nary a trace of smugness. It just is.

"I don't know if I'll ever deserve you," Theo whispers against Liam's cheek, a tremor in his breath and his pulse.

"Shhh"—he presses his hand gently to Theo's mouth, gaze flickering to the gold band on his ring finger—"Stop. You already do." They're treading ancient ground now, a dirt path littered with the vestiges of old paw prints and weathered, storm-blown branches that snap and crack under their feet.

Theo shakes his head and swallows, eyes dark as a night with no moon.

Theo, stubborn Theo, always Theo, calls to Liam's blood with a pull as strong and inexorable as the full moon when she crooks her bone-white fingers and beckons to Liam's wolf.

When Theo calls, Liam always comes.

Letting his hand drop back to stroke along Theo's shoulder, Liam raises his head and reaches for his husband's mouth, slowly, so slowly, a millimeter at a time, giving him a chance to retreat if that's what he wants. But Theo doesn't retreat. Instead, he angles his head, light catching on the fan of his lashes as his eyes fall shut, so Liam presses onward until their lips finally meet.

It's a journey they began years before, but one they have to take again and again. Together. Some of the roads are the same; some of them will be different.

But Liam kisses Theo soft, slow, and achingly sweet, coaxing, coaxing, until he moans his surrender into Liam's mouth, and Liam thinks he'll never hear anything more beautiful than that. He kisses Theo and tries to tell him all the things he's told him a thousand times before. Things like I love you, and I want you, and I need you, and you're mine, and I'm yours.

And if there isn't a God, maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe there's nothing holier than this: naked skin, warm hands, and kisses strung in a rosary like every silent prayer Liam knows Theo never uttered.

I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm . . . yours.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please comment if you feel up to it. :) If you want to send me a prompt or fangirl with me about Liam/Theo on tumblr, you can find me at onlymorelove DOT tumblr DOT com. **  
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